


We Cured The Dog

by olliolli_oxenfree



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Late Night Conversations, M/M, The Calling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 14:42:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12191916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olliolli_oxenfree/pseuds/olliolli_oxenfree
Summary: Sometime before he left to seek a cure, the Warden Commander had a realization.





	We Cured The Dog

**Author's Note:**

> Chad? Wake up Chad. Listen.

“Zevran. Zevran, wake up. _Zevran_.”

The Antivan rolled over, arm stretching out to comfort his Warden before he could discern what kind of nightmare had awoken him. “What is it, _amor_?”

“We cured the dog, Zev. We cured the dog.”

Terron sat up quickly, and Zevran was able to catch the look in his eyes. Not fear or panic, but the mania that overtook the Dalish elf when an idea struck. The Warden swung his legs over the side of the bed, clapping his hands together. “Pup. Pup, c’mere.”

Grumbling, the mabari padded over. It dropped back to the ground in front of the Warden, head in Terron’s lap. “How’d we do it, boy?” Terron muttered, picking up the mabari’s head and turning it side to side. “It can’t have just been the flower.”

Zevran slid forward, wrapping his arms around Terron’s waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. “What did you cure the dog of, _amor_?”

“The Taint. It was a huge problem at Ostagar,” Terron rushed on before Zevran had a chance to react. “Mabari caught the Taint more than the _shemlen_ did. Pup had it when I arrived. I _fed him the damn_ — What did the kennel master use? We got the flower in the Wilds, but that was the last thing he needed.”

“…Is your _dog_ a _Grey Warden_?”

“He might be? I don’t— That can wait. I need to talk with Alistair. He spent as much time at the kennels as I did, maybe he knows something. Or, maybe one of the Wardens told him something before Cailan’s battle, or…”

Terron had risen from the bed, pacing briskly in front of the fireplace. Zevran watched as he did so, the glowing light of the coals enough for them both to see by. At the beginning of their physical relationship, Zevran had mistaken a blemish on Terron’s chest for a bruise. In the years after the Blight, it had spread in a vertical line across the front of Terron’s ribs. Black veins spidered up the right side of his chest and slowly spread towards his shoulder. Over the last two years, the frequency and duration of Terron's nightmares had increased. Come the morning, there would be more than a few strands of hair left where the Warden had laid his head. They had not discussed it, but Zevran knew. Any other Warden would have already gone to the Deep Roads.

His Warden was still pacing, muttering about Ostagar and anything they may have missed when Alistair had burned Cailan’s body.

“Alistair is in the Free Marches,” Zevran reminded Terron after hearing the name three or four times in succession.

“I’ll wait for him in Denerim.” Terron brushed off the concern and followed it up with another idea. “Maybe the kennel master there knows something.”

“Do you think she would?”

He shrugged. “She might.”

It took some cajoling to convince the Warden to wait for the morning, rather than to leave at once. With the reminder that returning to slumber would give Alistair more time to complete his tour of the Marches, as well as what the other Wardens might do on his return should he leave without warning again, Terron allowed Zevran to drag him back to bed. Then, a yowling started outside and Terron had to open the door for the cat. Pounce hopped up with them, and both elves had to reprimand Pup for trying to do the same. Finally, Zevran was able draw Terron near.

The Warden fell asleep first. A small mercy, that sleep still came easily. His skin felt heated beneath Zevran’s hands. Zevran found himself tyring to remember if he had always been so warm. Was this simply an effect of sleeping near a hearth instead of out in the Ferelden cold? Or…

He soon drifted into a doze, alert for any moans or whimpers that would interrupt the night once again. Thankfully, none did.


End file.
